


Take the A Train

by Sammelsurium



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Cheating, F/M, New York City, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammelsurium/pseuds/Sammelsurium
Summary: Odysseus misses his stop and encounters some old friends. If friends is what you call them.
Relationships: Calypso/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Circe/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Odysseus/Penelope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Take the A Train

“Sir? Sir, you have to get off. This is the last stop.”

Odysseus wakes up to the gentle voice of a New York transit employee. It’s 10:27 PM on a Tuesday night, and he’s missed his transfer.

He rubs the sleep from eyes and mumbles an apology to the man who woke him up, stepping off the train onto an empty platform. One of those exposed ones, running forty feet above the city. The night is dark and humid: even the full moon is concealed by clouds. It’ll rain tonight. Might be a storm.

Odysseus falls onto a bench, cold and slightly damp. Why didn’t Ajax wake him up? He’s pretty sure they were in the same car. But Ajax is a fucking jerk, who has never been nice to anyone that isn’t paying his salary. And Menelaus left early, because his wife’s show was premiering, and Agamemnon left at six, because he gets his shit done on time. And now home is an hour away, and Odysseus is exhausted.

It takes twenty minutes for the next train to come. Unsurprising, at this time of night. Odysseus is going to be two hours late. Since he’s supposed to get out of the office at 5:00 PM, it really adds up to six. Penelope won’t be happy, but she won’t say anything. She’s used to it. Odysseus wishes she weren’t. Sometimes he forgets he has a wife, when he’s deep in his work. He forgets his home, and he forgets his son, and he forgets Penelope, because there’s no room for them in his head. Management says it’s a sign of his dedication. Odysseus wishes he could be devoted to other things.

He wants to go back to sleep. He closes his eyes, and he’s not sure how long they stay like that before he opens them again. It’s hard to tell, when he thinks about work and dreams about work and doesn’t do much else. He used to read during his commute. Now, he just listens to the clatter of train against track and tries not to fall asleep.

The train comes, eventually. Odysseus is relieved to discover that he will not be stuck on this platform forever, halfway between sleep and waking.

He gets on and takes a corner seat. A scattering of people get on at the next stop, and the stop after that. The ding of the closing door keeps Odysseus alert.  _ Van Siclen. Pennsylvania. Junius Street, next stop. _ There’s a familiar name, he thinks, as the train moves on. Home is still an hour away, but this is his territory. he knows Junius. His ex lives at Junius. Well, ex in some senses. In others--

In others, ever-present.

The door dings, and the train shifts into motion. Circe stalks towards him. Her step is sure, and her smile pins him to his seat. Odysseus is trapped. 

His exhaustion disappears, replaced by a bone-deep anxiety. He wants to think about work. He wants to think about home. He does not want to think about Circe while he’s sober enough to feel guilty.

She sits a seat down, so there’s space between them--closer than a stranger and further than a friend. She takes out her phone. Odysseus follow her hands, delicate and graceful. She lays one on the violin case in her lap. Going out for a gig, probably. Her music is brilliant, but she’s always preferred playing with mens’ hearts.

“You look bad,” she tells him. “Crunch time?”

He swallows. “Yeah. It’s been really busy.” He reminds himself that he has a wife, which is sometimes hard when he’s looking at Circe.

She nods. “It’s been a while since we last talked. I was just wondering why you’d been so distant lately.” She opens her emails. “Penelope’s well, I hope?”

“Of course.” His throat clenches a little. He doesn’t like talking about Penelope with Circe. It reminds him that he shouldn’t be talking to Circe at all. The train descends underground. “I’ve been thinking I should spend more time with her and Telemachus.”

“Of course you  _ should, _ ” Circe says, “but it’s hard to devote yourself to another person, even just for a few hours. Time is our most valuable resource. And our most limited.”

Well. He twisted his lips into a smile. “I’m doing my best.”

Circe looks at him, faintly scornful. “No doubt.”

He hates Circe. He hates her mind games, and he hates how she looks at him, like he’s a child saying he’s going to be an astronaut when he grows up. Is it so hard to imagine that he cares for his family? He does. That’s why he works so hard. That’s why he’s on the train at fifteen past eleven, trying to get home. And Circe… “It’s a work in progress,” he says, shrugging. He tries to change the subject. “How have you been?”

“I just got another cat,” she says.

Odysseus nods. Circe always loved those stupid cats more than she loved him. “Cool.”

“And a new bass.”

“Nice.”

She turns off her phone and slides into the seat directly next to him. Odysseus wishes she wouldn’t. “I just got rid of all my records,” she says, an odd look in her eyes. “It’s kind of freeing. Lately I’ve been working on cutting the junk out of my life. Being my best self.”

“Watching Marie Kondo?” Odysseus asks weakly.

Circe smiles. “Exactly. I think it would do us all good to be a little more honest with ourselves.” She taps his knee. “And with each other.”

This feels like a break-up talk. That’s dangerous. Circe knows Penelope, and a lot of things Odysseus wouldn’t want Penelope to know. “I try to be honest,” he tells her.

Circe snorts. “You’re in marketing. You try to  _ look  _ honest,” she says. “But to tell the truth, dear, I find that I tire of your attentions--or rather, lack thereof.”

He spends more time with Circe than he does with his wife. “I’m sorry. Really I am.” He doesn’t know what he’s fighting for. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll--” He stops. He doesn’t have anything to give her.

She takes his hand, and he knows he’s doomed. “I’ve known you for years, Odysseus. And I know you aren’t one for ultimatums. I don’t care if you have a wife.” He winces. “I don’t care if you have a dozen  _ friends _ like me. But I’m not wasting my life on you or any other man.”

Odysseus is, for once, at a loss for words. He wishes Circe wasn’t so painfully direct. She’s almost guessed right. She isn’t the only one, but she’s one of the dearest.

The train screeches to a halt.  _ Atlantic Avenue,  _ says the voice on the speaker.  _ Transfers to the B, D, N, R, Q, 2, 4, 5, and the Lirr train. _

Odysseus snatches his hand away and stands. “This is my stop.”

Circe’s face falls into momentary confusion, before composing itself into harsh certainty once more. She rises. “Mine, too.”

The station is busy, even at this time of night. It’s hard to break it off with your mistress when you’re surrounded by people who might be your neighbors, so they walk in silence. The tunnel echoes with the scrabbling of rats and rumble of missed trains. “I’m taking the uptown D,” Circe says. “The band got a gig in midtown, debuting some snazzy new restaurant.”

“Good for you.” Odysseus pauses. “This restaurant wouldn’t be the Doric, would it?”

Circe smiles. “How did you guess?”

“Just lucky,” he says, looking over his shoulder self-consciously. There is a small, terrible possibility that--

“Odysseus?” calls out a familiar voice.

His head snaps forward, and he starts walking quicker. Circe follows suite. “Who was that?”

“Nobody.” He does not look back.

“Odysseus!” A familiar hand catches on his shoulder. He whirls around to a smiling face. “I knew it was you!”

Circe raises an eyebrow. Odysseus fakes a smile, wishing he could run and keep his pride. “Circe, this is my friend, Calypso,” he says gesturing to the newcomer. “Calypso, Circe.”

Calypso has been his  _ friend _ on and off since college. Circe, since his first job. They are both tall, brown-haired, and hard to resist. Odysseus senses disaster incoming.

Calypso smiles at Circe disarmingly. “Love the earrings,” she says, winking. “Seriously, Odysseus? You’re definitely punching above your weight class.”

Odysseus guides them to the side of the tunnel where it opens on to the station--it’s a little quieter there. Calypso is supposed to be no-strings-attached, but there are always strings. She’s nosy, which is almost worse than being jealous. “Circe and I aren’t together,” he tells Calypso.  _ Not anymore. _

“Maybe you should be,” she says. “You look like you need to get laid.” 

Odysseus wishes she were jealous. Just a little bit. “If you’re offering… ” he says, because he has to.

Calypso, fortunately, shakes her head. “I’m opening my restaurant tonight,” she says.

“Your restaurant?” asks Circe. “It wouldn’t be the Doric, would it?”

“It is!” Calypso looks delighted, turning to Circe. “You’re the violinist, right? With the second band?”

“I  _ am. _ ” Circe’s smile is less fake now.

“It’s going to be really busy tonight,” Calypso says, “But if you feel like gossiping at some point in the future… ”

“I’m going to miss my train,” Odysseus says.

He is, really, but Calypso just smirks. “Go ahead. It’s okay. We won’t make you listen while we expound upon your flaws.”

He wants to leave. Really he does. “What do you know? We haven’t done a lot of talking since we reconnected.” He should stop flirting. He can’t flirt for shit when he’s tired. And he has a wife.

Calypso grins wider. “I know all the dumb shit you did in college,” she says, holding up one finger. She raises the second. “I know you’ve been using the same cologne for twelve years. And you definitely have a type.” She puts up a third.

She was mostly right, so Odysseus didn’t respond. It’s too late to be in a good mood. “I have a wife,” he says.

“What? Really?” Calypso seems delighted. “Does she know about you and me? Or you and Circe?”

“Circe and I are just friends.”

“Sure,” Calypso says. “I won’t judge. I mean I  _ will _ . I mean--just saying, there’s a reason I’m your  _ ex  _ girlfriend.”

Circe opens her mouth to talk, but Odysseus interrupts her with a cough. There are some places he doesn’t want to go at midnight on a weekday. There are some places he never wants to go again. “I’m happily married. Penelope is fine with… ” Nope. He’s shitty at lying too. Something roars in the distance. “I think that’s my train.”

As he makes to leave, Calypso catches his shoulder again. She hands him a business card. “You have to come visit one of these nights,” she tells him. He nods uncertainly.

“You could even come with us tonight,” says Circe. “If you want.”

Smiling down at him like that, she looks like a goddess of old. Calypso looks like a hyena, wilder and lower and no less cruel. Odysseus is to cowardly to take this challenge. “I really have to go,” he says. Then he runs. 

He follows the tunnel, ignoring their laughter echoing behind him. Those women are too confident. Every interaction requires an amount of energy and agility that is only fun under very specific circumstances. Odysseus doesn’t plan on ever seeing either of them ever again; at least until he can get a good fuck out of the bargain. He gets down to the platform just as the train pulls into the station. D Train, thank god. Almost home.

He gets on the train and slumps into his seat. He should have been here two hours ago. He should be home now, where he can forget about this wretched place and never worry about women again. God, he’s tired.

The doors close. Then open again. Then they jam halfway. A voice on the speakers says something.  _ Sick passenger. Sorry for the brief delay. _

This train isn’t moving; neither are any others. Ill tempers abound and sleep is recalculated. Odysseus groans and leans back. He’s not yet tired enough to stop being disappointed.

Calypso and Circe walk into the station, laughing together. They see him. They wave.

He gets home around one in the morning. He showers. He falls into his bed with all due haste. Penelope’s already asleep: Telemachus is lying on her chest, tiny and chubby-legged. Odysseus watches them for a moment, his breathing slowing to match theirs. This is not the first time he’s late, and it won’t be the last. He wants to touch her. He wants to apologize. He wants to promise to be a better husband. He wants it to be true.

He falls asleep well past one in the morning. He’s trying to think about work.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Wow. It's been at least three or four years since I last published fanfiction, and... yeah. It's good to be be back.  
> 2\. Odysseus is kind of my problematic fave. He's full of nonsense and causes a lot of problems, but he's very scrappy and I love him. I wish he didn't cheat on his loyal and highly competent wife so much. I wish Penelope could stab him to death and rule in his stead, but the gosh-darn patriarchy just isn't down for that.  
> 3\. In this house, we love and respect Clytemnestra, who did absolutely nothing wrong.  
> 4\. Calypso and Circe are both in the club of people who are (a) done with Odysseus' bullshit and (b) extremely bisexual. Somewhere in the future of this AU, they do hook up. Penelope will definitely join the club, and may or may not join the hookup.  
> 5\. I make no promises, but more Odyssey bullshit may be forthcoming.


End file.
